


5 Snapshots in The Life of Alex Eames

by orphan_account



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Children, Domestic, Family, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 09:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex Eames is a boy. Or so they think, for the first nine months of her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Snapshots in The Life of Alex Eames

**9 weeks**

She's conceived through IVF, though at that point they don't know that it's a she. They agree for Arthur to be the donor and Eames to hold the family name. It takes three tries for the conception to be successful, although it feels like fifty to Arthur; he's had better nerves in a torture chamber for all the good the whitewashed walls, informative posters and cool blue tiles of the insemination clinic do to him.

Their surrogate, Jenny, apologizes profusely and asks if they want someone else but both Arthur and Eames tell her no; they go back, way back, and she's lovely besides. They can't imagine having anyone else.

Nine weeks after their third insemination attempt, they receive an envelope in the post. Eames hands it to him, beaming like he knows what's inside already. It's so light it could almost be empty. Inside it is a thin, square, wax photo with the underside labelled " _Surprise. Fingers crossed now_ \- _Jen_ "

The photo is an ultrasound, grainy and dark, but Arthur's done enough research to know what that tiny gray dot on the bottom right side of the conical wave means. He holds on to Eames for what seems like hours as they stare at it. He's so happy his heart wants to burst.

The gynae turns out to be wrong (it happens). They keep her intended name anyway.

 

**2.5 years**

Dom and Mal get to see Alex for the first time after two years of struggling to get their schedules and respective hidden locations free for each other. They dress her up in a pale blue smock with milk-white lace embroidered on the front, and Arthur powders her neck and fits her into new shoes. Her hair has grown out into lovely, shiny locks of jet-black that smell sweetly of her skin in the morning, and Eames gathers what he can of it into tiny braids that fall just past her neck.

They arrive at the Cobb's, but to their collective dismay, Alex refuses to be held by anyone but her fathers and automatically screams every time she feels a foreign hand on her. They eventually give up trying after several attempts to lure her into their arms with bribes of snacks or toys (or, at one point, Mal's weird French wheedling) and settle into their Thanksgiving dinner with Alex propped on Eames's lap.

"This is nothing," Dom says with a wave of his hand as Arthur apologizes. "Wait til she reaches her 'Why' phase."

"Her 'Why' phase?" Eames asks, curious.

"Yeah," Dom says. "When everything you say is greeted with a 'Why?'"

Philippa and James join them at the dinner table then, and Alex slowly uncoils at the sight of younger people and starts gurgling nonsense words at them between mouthfuls of rice and gravy. She insists on feeding herself, of course, her teddy gripped tightly in one arm and a kiddy spoon in the other (courtesy of Philippa's old toy set), playing rather than eating half the time and making such a mess that Eames has to swipe at her mouth with wet wipes in between kissing her hair and feeding himself too.

They're having dessert when Mal drapes a gentle hand on Arthur's arm. "You're happy."

It's a statement, not a question. Arthur smiles in affirmation.

When they get ready to leave, Arthur holds Alex while saying his final goodbyes to Mal and Dom, trying for one last time to coax his daughter into waving goodbye. Eames leans over and hisses at her, fondly, "C'mon, sweetheart, we've been practicing this for months!" It doesn't work, so Dom finally condescends to talk in his Donald Duck voice, the one he swears he would only ever do for James when he was weaning 8 years ago. It doesn't make Alex wave, but they do catch her quirking the tiniest smile as she hides her head shyly in the crook of Arthur's neck, so they call it a win for the day.

 

  
**10 years**

Alex's tenth birthday is also the day she gets her heart broken for the first time.

Arthur calls up her karate instructor and asks if they can hold a small surprise party at their studio. "Just an hour," he promises, "After her class." Arthur and Eames bring cake and decorate one of their empty rooms, nothing fancy, just a couple streamers taped over the mirrors, a giant, glittery, multi-coloured HAPPY BIRTHDAY! sign over the back wall framing the table they use to lay out the food and plasticware, some party hats and a box full of party favours.

Alex melts at the surprise, her face a large grin the entire time and she doesn't stop grinning even after they've played twelve rounds of musical chairs, stuffed their faces full of cake and played a handful of other games Arthur doesn't understand.

It's only when Arthur zones out of a conversation between Eames and the instructor that he realizes Alex is actively seeking the attention of one spiky-haired boy in their group with the name 'Tim Feng' printed on the back of his karate gi. Her face goes pink when he wishes her a happy birthday and she laughs loudly at all his jokes.

Arthur thinks maybe she doesn't realize that he's very clearly pining over another girl in their class.

Later when Tim Feng offers said girl to walk her home, Alex blends back into the crowd, quietly helping Arthur and Eames clean up the table and throw the discarded plates into the trash. She refuses to have more of the mint chocolate ice cream Arthur offers her even though he knows its her absolute favourite flavour and she would never give up an extra helping of it for the world. The walk home is silent, save for Eames' understandably persistent attempts to cheer her up with his spot-on impressions of her friends. Alex holds tightly onto Eames' hand all the way home.

Arthur feels guiltier about it than he thinks he probably should be and talks her into staying up late to watch a movie with them that night.

"Just this one night," he persuades her. It's not a school night anyway, and she loves Kill Bill. Her face lights up a little at the prospect, and they sit together, Alex fitting snugly in Arthur's arm, her toes tucked under Eames's lap. Arthur strokes her hair absent-mindedly throughout, noticing that where this act would normally be met with resistance or a swatting hand, she doesn't say a word about it this time.

 

  
**17 years**

"I'm going on a date." Alex announces, carefully arranging cutlery on the napkins she set on the table for dinner. "Tomorrow night."

Arthur is so surprised by her statement that he belatedly realizes she wasn't asking for permission.

"Ok," he says, gathering himself. He's played this scene out in his head more times than he's cared to admit in the entirety of his fatherhood. Arthur prides himself on having braved enough scares in the past seventeen years to prepare him for this, including (but not limited to) Alex's first rubella shot, her first tooth extraction, her first period, not to mention the concussion she got from that skiing accident two winters ago that nearly gave Arthur a heart attack. The best course of action in this type of situation, he's learnt, is to stay calm, assess the situation thoroughly, calculate the risks and plan for damage control. Much like point work, really.

_Jesus, it's just a date,_ he thinks to himself. _It'll be okay, I can do this._

"What's his name?" he asks, tentatively.

Alex bites her lip, staring pointedly at a table mat. "Tanya."

"Oh," Arthur says dumbly. Another set of circumstances then. He quickly revises the entire course of recon and surveillance plans he built in his head in the last twelve seconds. "Do you need a ride?"

"No." Alex says, visibly relaxing. "She's picking me up at 7."

Arthur nods slowly. "Does Papa know?"

"Yeah," Alex says, fidgeting a little with a fork in her hand. "Papa, um, he already gave me the talk. About, you know. Dating. And, um."

"Right." Arthur says, all at once glad he wasn't the one who had to give it. He'll need to pay Eames back later for that. "Good. Do you have something nice to wear?"

"Indeed she does," Eames pipes in, carrying a large pot of beef stew into the dining room. "I picked something out for her already. Nice little ensemble, you'll be absolutely dashing, puppet."

"Hmm," Arthur says, contemplating. He suddenly turns to Eames, frowning. "Am I going to have to inspect this "ensemble" of yours before I let her go out in it?"

"Nonsense," says Eames, affronted. "It's perfectly decent."

"Really." Arthur says.

Alex, blushing furiously at this point, can tell her father is not convinced and proceeds to show off the blouse-and-skirt set that "Papa threw together in a whim and turned out fantastically."

Arthur huffs his approval. He doesn't like it when Eames turns out to be the better stylist of the two of them.

 

*

 

Tanya is tall, athletic and very, very hot. She greets Arthur with a handshake that very much reminds him of Eames when they first met. She's a sophomore who runs the photography club at the college (how she came to know Alex) and majors in Mechanical Engineering. Her bob cut bounces as she nods at Arthur's directions to the movie theatre, and she gallantly promises to have Alex home by eleven.

As they watch the car rev off the driveway, Arthur can't help but say out loud, more to reassure himself than Eames, "They'll be fine. She'll be fine."

Eames raises his eyebrows. "Really? That's it?"

"What?"

Eames snorts. "Arthur, we've been married 20 years. I know you well enough to know that you've run that poor girl through a background check thorough enough for her to be a mark for our next extraction."

"Okay, firstly, you don't know that." Arthur says, feigning innocence. "Secondly, I have checked, and she's clean. Mostly."

"Oh, _darling_ ," Eames scolds, "Our daughter knows how to take down a fully grown man with one hand. She has three perfectly normal items in her purse that she can makeshift into very effective weapons in an instant. I think she can handle a first date."

"About that," Arthur says, pulling him back into the house, one hand very suggestively sliding into the back of his jeans, "I heard you gave her the sex talk. Care to enlighten me too?"

"Delighted to," Eames grins, taking his shirt off. "We do have the house to ourselves tonight, after all."

 

  
**27 years**

They're under, on a militarization job commissioned by the local police force. Dreamsharing has been legal for some time now, and Alex has taken to it like she was born for it.

The dream they've laid out is set in a city that houses a drug trafficking organization, and Arthur's job is to carry out a standard extraction on the druglord's headquarters. The mark is the corporal who sits onboard a chopper a mile overhead with a dozen police trainees. They watch the entire scene play out, with the mark having the viewing advantage in order to figure out a proper defence strategy using his own projections while simultaneously talking his trainees through the whole procedure. Their point of reference is Eames, who keeps watch from a hidden location.

Arthur and Alex sit crouched under a semi-trailer, waiting for the signal. It's only her fifth combat mission ever, her role in previous jobs limited to helping Arthur with point work, research or maintenance of the PASIV.

"Dream seems a little unstable," Arthur mutters, checking the sky overhead. "We need to ask Yusuf to have a look at their batch of Somnacin."

"No, it's the PASIV, didn't you see the numbers on the gauge? It's _ancient_. The pressure regulators looked faulty to me." Alex says, hesitating a little before continuing, "I have a friend who can replace the multi-port release valve without breaking a sweat."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Is that friend named Tanya?"

"No." Alex says, a little too quickly. "I walked right into that one, didn't I."

"You're going to have to call her back some time," Arthur chuckles, unclipping his handgun to check on ammo. "I'm getting some very impressive testimonials about her from our friends in New York."

"Not talking about it, Dad."

Arthur shrugs, and decides to change the subject. "Think you can reach the big three-oh before waking up today?"

"Only thirty?" Alex smirks, seemingly unfazed, but Arthur knows from the set of her shoulders that she's dying to rise to the challenge. "Since when did you keep count anyway?"

"I've been keeping count for the past five jobs, honey," Arthur says, placing his fully-loaded gun back in its holster. "You're doing great."

"Clear," Eames' voice crackles over both their walkie-talkies.

"Ok, remember what Papa and I told you, about the three points of view you have to be aware of at all times, and don't forget--"

"--to count off my bullets as I fire, yes Dad, I got it."

Arthur pats her on the back. "Go get 'em. I'll cover for you."

Alex leopard-crawls out from under the truck at lightning speed, past the main gate. She turns back, and Arthur waves the OK for her to continue on across the yard. He watches her swoop down into the crack house, her crisp dark ponytail flying behind her as she takes out the first projection she encounters with practiced ease.

Arthur radios on Eames as she takes out another. "You see that?"

"Yeah," Eames radios back. "Our daughter, breaking projections apart like matchsticks, right here in dreamworld like she belongs here."

"I'm so proud of her," Arthur says, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice as Alex shoots down five more projections in a matter of seconds.

"We did good, darling."

"That idea we brought up, earlier? About possibly backing up our rear with long range shooters, attacking from the east wing instead of the front, then changing the exit strategy--"

"--to the jetty through cabin cruisers instead of the airway route, yeah," Eames recalls.

"That was all her," Arthur says, dazzled. "Just... can you believe that? Our Alex thought up all of that."

"I think she's found her calling."

"I think so too."

"Right, you're up, darling," Eames says just as Alex reloads her Beretta and beckons Arthur to come in after her.

They hurry into the house, past a hallway into the main room where a dozen more projections await them, and they spend what seems like forever neutralizing blank-faced gang members and thugs. At one point, ironically, Arthur runs out of bullets, but his daughter merely tosses a clip at him in between kneeing the balls of a projection twice her size and yelling "Dad! Three o' clock, watch out!"

They finally make it through to the safe room and Alex slides underneath the desk straight to where it's located, keying out a combination Arthur can only assume she wrangled out of a projection earlier on. With the document in their hands, it seems like perfect timing that their walkie-talkies crackle to life again and Eames' voice instructs, "Get the hell out of there. You have half a minute before they come in."

They escape through the windows and make it to the jetty at a run, but it's too late. Half a dozen speedboats are docked on the jetty, letting out a swarm of projections armed with clubs and semi-automatics, coming towards them.

Beside him, Alex dreams up an assault rifle, and Arthur feels a burst of affection for his daughter as she storms forward, killing a score of projections in her wake. It's not until he hears her scream "Behind you, Dad!" that he finds the barrel of a revolver trained on his forehead. He sees black instantly.

 

*

  
Arthur opens his eyes to a dimly-lit room with miles of tubing on the floor hooking the PASIV to the policemen. His husband is still asleep, and so is Alex, lying on the recliner beside him, her dark hair falling over one shoulder. He lifts a hand to curl a stray hair over her ear, but she stirs awake just then.

"Hey Daddy," Alex mumbles, eyes still droopy from sleep, her face a little flushed from the heat in the room. Arthur's never seen his daughter so beautiful before.

Her mouth curls into a little smile, forming a dimple on her right cheek, not unlike Arthur's very own. "Forty-two."

**Author's Note:**

> The karate bit was inspired by [this absolutely adorable doodle](http://archiveofourown.org/works/310698) by [dremiel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dremiel/pseuds/dremiel).


End file.
